Date: Mon, 02 Dec 2002 09:25:05 -0800
From: Shawn Webb
Subject: The Frat Control Experiment, parts XIV-XVI
The Frat Control Experiment
Parts XIV-XVI
by: webb025@hotmail.com
Disclaimer: This is a work of erotic fiction. If you are under 18, or are
offended by the idea of male-male sex or mind control, DO NOT read this.
This is the continuation of the story begun in Parts I-XIII in four earlier
files. You'll have much more fun with this if you read those parts first. I
took a few hot plot suggestions from a couple of the e-mails I got about
this story, but since they were quite varied, I couldn't make everybody
happy! I may have played out this story as far as it can go, but then again,
that's what I thought LAST time.
XIV.
The trio walked down the hill to fraternity row. In front was Richie Rocher,
sashaying along the path in his affected manner, painted toenails showing in
his sandals. Behind him at a respectful distance followed his worshipful RTR
house roommates, quarterback Bob Rutland and defensive lineman Quentin
Parks. The two freshmen had had an impact on the team early in the season,
and were recognized around the campus.
When the two football players had first arrived at RTR, they were somewhat
confused by their room assignment, until they went through the initiation
ceremony. After that, they understood completely, and were honored to be
assigned for mentoring to one of the most highly respected members of the
frat. While Richie was none too masculine in appearance or demeanor, he
possessed a 9.5 inch tool that placed him towards the top of RTR's
cock-centric hierarchy.
Richie's job was to imbue his pledges with the house philosophy that respect
and obedience was owed not as a function of race, creed, national origin,
size, strength, intelligence, looks, sexual preference, or wealth. It all
came down to one thing: cock size. While many members of the fraternity were
straight, that didn't mean they wouldn't be honored to provide blow jobs to
the largest-dicked guys, or be used for their amusement on demand. If one
brother's cock was REALLY larger than another's, he could really mess with
the other's mind, effectively reprogramming him. Given enough time and
enough repetition of commands to cause a "burning in" of thoughts and ideas,
those personality changes could become permanent. Richie had first laid
claim to the two football players for his own use. If Richie received a few
personal benefits from their training, it was only his just due.
When the players first moved into his room as newly-pledged and programmed
RTRs, he let them watch him jerk off slowly on the bed. The two football
giants watched, mesmerized by the movement of both of Richie's hands up and
down his giant schlong, feeling they were in the presence of true greatness.
He invited them to feel it, which they did, as if it were a sensory work of
art. Of course, as they were both straight, they felt no desire to do
anything else. Richie realized he would have to work on them to make them
useful playthings.
Over the first few days, he ordered them to study and admire various of his
body parts: his slim waist, his skinny legs, his lithe neck, his
boyishly-cut thick blond hair, his delicate hands, his feet with the painted
toenails. After several study sessions involving his feet, they began to
sleep on their mattresses on either side of his bed with their faces
directly under his feet, which they would admire. With a bit more
programming, they started to idly jerk off looking at, sniffing, and
occasionally licking his feet. When he would step out of bed onto one of the
jocks before stepping down to the floor, that jock would get an instant
hard-on from the feel of Richie's foot on his body. And while he was gone
from the bed, they would sniff the sheets and pillow to enjoy his manly
aroma.
As they progressed through their studies, Richie was also teaching them the
skills they would need to be successful at RTR. They learned how to give a
first-rate blow job. At first the two straight jocks worked on this merely
for interpersonal skill development and as a frat responsibility. However,
with Richie's expert coaching, they soon came to enjoy the act, and soon
they were looking forward to their cum reward at the end. They were
convinced that cum, especially from a big cock, was the most delicious hot
drink there could be. And they were ESPECIALLY hungry for Richie's cum.
Sometimes Richie would have both of them working on him at once, one licking
and sucking on each side. Once Richie had erupted they would sometimes
wrestle each other to get their tongues into spilled puddles of his cum.
Over time, with much practice and many suggestions, they also learned to
love the feel of a cock up their asses, the bigger the better. First they
practiced on each other under Richie's direction; then they worked with
dildoes of increasing size, until finally they were ready for Richie's huge
dick. They grew to love the feel of Richie in them, and felt empty when he
pulled out.
Bob and Quentin knew they were being groomed for the most important RTR
responsibility of all: a trip to the top-floor room of Jason, the RTR
president, for an extended, exhausting multi-hour session that would tax
their physical abilities as well as their new sexual skills. Initially they
viewed this eventuality with dread, but as time went by, the idea of it
became more and more exciting. They were still somewhat afraid of Jason, as
much as they were in awe of him, but they felt that with enough workouts,
practice, and preparation, they would be ready for the Great Day, whenever
it came.
They had another benefit as RTR residents. Whenever their masculine,
aggressive side emerged, after a particularly frustrating or maddening
experience, they could always drag Roger the three-inch-dicked former RTR
president into their room, slap and punch him around, force him to degrade
himself, use every one of his orifices, then kick him out the door and onto
the hallway floor when they were done. During high stress periods, such as
exam weeks, there might even be one or more other brothers in the hall
waiting to drag the discarded Roger off to their own rooms to start the
process over again. At the end of days like that, Roger would crawl back to
his room, covered with bruises and dripping other people's cum and piss from
every part of his body, but with the satisfied feeling of having served his
obvious purpose in life. of course, if a particularly sadistic large-dicked
brother had ordered him to, even then he might be forced to finish the day
by torturing himself in the privacy of his own room, which by now was fully
equipped for such activity.
Bob and Quentin's training was coming along nicely by the time of this
breezy early-autumn day as the three proceeded down the hill to RTR house.
As Richie passed two hunky baseball team types on their way up the hill, a
tall crewcut blond Nordic type and a shorter one with long chestnut hair, he
couldn't help turning around as they went by to give them a good once-over.
The tall blond noticed this, and disgusted, muttered, "Faggot."
Unfortunately for him, he happened to say it just as he and his friend
passed the two football players. Bob and Quentin, enraged at the insult to
their godlike mentor, each grabbed one of the jocks, whom they outweighed by
quite a bit.
"That's not a nice thing to say," Quentin told his blond captive baseball
player. The tall jock struggled in his arms, but he was no match for the
300-plus pound lineman. "Just because someone likes guys, that's no reason
not to show him respect. Just because you're bigger and stronger," he said,
ripping the jock's shirt off and tossing it aside, revealing a nicely ripped
physique covered with a light blond fuzz, "doesn't mean you should look down
on another guy. Just because you're an athlete," he continued, lifting the
blond off the ground like a feather and tearing his pants down to his
ankles, "doesn't mean you're better than he is." Quentin tore off the
player's underpants, revealing an average-size dick and balls shrunk
somewhat in fear. "In fact, you're no match for him in any way." Other
students had stopped to watch the situation unfold. One of them gave a
good-natured wolf-whistle when the blond's pants came down. His powerful
legs and size-13 shoes flailed helplessly like a little boy's in QUentin's
grasp.
Richie came over, gazed at the two helpless baseball players, and whispered
something into Quentin's ear, then into Bob's. Bob tore the shirt off the
innocent-looking chestnut-haired jock he was holding, showing a well
worked-out chest and six-pack but no body hair. Then Bob and QUentin dropped
their baseball players to the ground. Quentin reached down and grabbed the
shirt he had torn off the blond. "We're taking your shirts down to RTR
house. When you're thought about what you did wrong, and you're ready to
apologize, come on down and we'll give them back." The humiliated jocks got
up and ran towards their dorm.
Later, when they got their nerve up, they would go down to fraternity row to
retrieve their shirts. But when they got there, the brothers would be ready
for them. At Richie's direction, the two were soon knocked out and dragged
to the initiation room. When they regained consciousness, they discovered
they were now RTRs and would be trained as playtoys for Bob and Quentin, and
for anyone else in the frat that wanted them. And to them, it only seemed
fair, considering their offense against a truly superior being. To help
their new brothers, they were also happy to provide information on their
fellow baseball players. No one from the baseball team had ever pledged RTR
before, so this information, gathered from last season's team showers, would
be invaluable in finding suitable additional RTR candidates, from top-ranked
to bottom.
This would also extend the Grand Master's influence into yet another campus
sports team before its season began. Could he improve their performance even
as he changed their outlook on life?
XV.
The football season was progressing much better than expected. The team was
undefeated, having beaten several teams rated higher than themselves. The
following Saturday, the team would play the team ranked sixth nationally,
and was expected to lose by at least 21 points. For that reason (and of
course for other, more secret ones), the team had been pushing themselves
especially hard this week, and practice ran late.
Last off the field and into the locker room came team cocaptain and center,
Clay Carver. As befit the position he played, Clay was the biggest and most
muscular member of the team. He was also the heart of the team, pushing them
to work hard each day, and working hardest himself, leading by example.
That's why the team looked up to him so much. He ran a large hand through
his sweaty, longish thick black hair, wondering if the team had what it took
to survive the upcoming game.
As the team began to undress, they heard the now-dreaded sound of the locker
room door slamming against the doorjamb. As the team looked on fearfully,
the entire high school chess club strode arrogantly into the room, kicking
objects on the floor out of their way as they walked by. One of the younger
club members positioned himself by the door, another at the entrance to the
shower room, to stop the players from escaping. One bulky lineman who tried
to slip out to the showers was grabbed by his jockstrap by a skinny high
school sophomore, and forcibly dragged back into the room, struggling and
straining his muscles helplessly all the way. The sophomore dumped him on
the floor and smirked at him contemptuosly, his braces glinting in his
mouth. The lineman cowered at his feet, afraid of a casual steel-like kick
that might cause him agonizing pain.
Clancy, the chess club president and a short pudgy senior, standing in the
center of the room, pushed his glasses up his nose. "Okay, sissies, listen
up. First order of business, this weekend's game. Our club has a lot of
money riding on that game. We've bet on you guys to win, at 20 to 1 odds.
I'm here to offer you an incentive. If you win, we WON'T line you up on your
backs on the quad and sit on your faces while you squirm under us, in front
of the whole school. We will refrain from climbing onto your shoulders and
riding you around the campus, steering you by gripping your necks tightly
with our powerful legs. We will NOT force you to clean off the soles of our
shoes with your tongues at the student center. We may even not strip you to
your jockstraps, tie you to the fence around the campus, and paint 'LOSERS'
on your chests. So there are all KINDS of reasons for you to win!"
The team pictured each of these possibilities, and they knew the chess geeks
could easily do all that to them, and more. Each resolved internally to work
out and practice every spare moment until Saturday. No other activity or
social event was even close in priority.
"Next item. You guys haven't met Robbie yet," Clancy said, indicating a
slightly built boy with a mop of straight blond hair and a naughty grin,
wearing a tank top despite the brisk weather. He was 14 but looked younger,
with smooth pale skin all over, and just a few wisps of blond hair visible
in his armpit. "Robbie's new to the club, he's a freshman, and he's gay.
When he first came to us, he was really shy, didn't start conversations, and
was embarrassed about his sexuality. Since he joined the club, he's gained a
lot of self confidence. He's decided to make one of you guys his sex slave,
so he can show who's boss, and get off whenever he wants. He's here to pick
the guy. Let's start with the captains. Sullivan and Carver, front and
center!"
Jim Sullivan, the tall red-haired starting quarterback, had been edging
towards the locker room door, hoping to make a break for it and run for
help. When he heard Clancy call for him, he had just reached the door and
yanked it open. Immediately, the sophomore guarding the door kneed him in
the groin, and he collapsed to the floor. The sophomore then dragged him,
groaning in pain, to the center of the room, depositing him in front of
Clancy, who completely immobilized him with one well-worn sneaker on his
neck.
"Now, now, Sullivan, that's no way to behave before your betters. You need
to learn your place." Clancy lifted the dazed Sullivan off the ground with
one hand, and tore off his practice uniform with the other. He then sat on
the bench and placed Sullivan across his knees. "Misbehaving boys need to be
spanked." He raised his arm and swatted Sullivan over and over, with
Sullivan screaming in pain as his ass turned red, his long muscled legs
twisting and writhing in his agony.
The team watched all this in horror, humiliated at the power this pudgy kid
had over their team captain. One team member, however, had another kind of
problem, a much bigger one. Clay Carver, the other captain, having already
removed his uniform at the time of the geeks' invasion, stood by his locker
wearing nothing but his jockstrap. As he watched Sullivan being spanked, a
side of him he had tried to keep hidden began to emerge. For while Clay, in
his sizable glory, was the team's inspiration, mentor to younger players,
and a figure all admired, he had a secret submissive side. He had always
secretly dreamed of being physically dominated by an even bigger man, forced
to serve at the sexual pleasure of a muscle giant. He watched all the WWF
competitions on television, and fantasized himself as the well-trained and
often punished housebitch of some of the biggest wrestlers he saw. He jerked
off regularly to pictures in wrestling magazines, imagining himself being
spanked across the laps of the dominating figures he saw in the photos.
As he watched Sullivan's spanking, and knowing he was next for humiliation,
Clay helplessly began to throw a substantial rod. He tried his best to cover
himself with his big hands, but his huge cock refused to remain confined in
his jockstrap, popped out and stood prominently against his stomach. As
Clancy rolled Sullivan, whimpering and rubbing his sore ass, off his lap and
onto the floor, he looked over to Clay and was astonished by what he saw.
"Hey guys, look at Carver! He's really getting off on this! He's really a
fag!" Everyone in the room stared at Clay in amazement. Clay was racked with
shame, but the humiliation only served to increase his helpless excitement,
and he became even harder.
Robbie, the delicate gay freshman, strode cockily over to Clay and shouted
"Attention!" Clay stood as stiffly as he could, looking straight ahead,
hands by his side, huge biceps bulging in both his arms and legs, cock
straining against his stomach. As Robbie walked around and behind his new
potential acquisition, he swatted him on the buns with his relative
super-strength. Clay winced in pain but did not cry out. Delighted, Robbie
announced, "This one is mine." Jim Sullivan, helplessly pinned to the floor
under Clancy's sneakered foot, could not help a sigh of relief. But Clay's
excitement only increased, because he realized his impossible fantasy was
about to come true. It was not exactly as he imagined it; instead of
submitting to a huge, muscled wrestler, he was about to become the bitch of
a 5'3" innocent blond high school freshman. The pale hand that would spank
him and throw him around was only half the length of Clay's erect dick. The
pink teen asshole his long tongue would get to know well would require work
to penetrate. The feet under which he would occasionally lie as a footstool
were smaller than his own hands. The dark afternoon stubble on Clay's face
was almost more hair than Robbie had on his entire body below the top of his
head. Yet the domination would be complete, and voluntary.
Seeing their captain and most admired team member voluntarily becoming the
sex slave of one of their pipsqueak tormentors had a devastating
psychological effect on the team. Although they were under no direct
hypnotic compulsion to feel this way, each of them became slightly more
resigned to submitting to the high school geeks, and more desirous of
impressing and pleasing them as a way to avoid further punishment. For the
coming weekend, they knew that the chess club had a lot at stake in the
game, and it was far more important for the team to win in order not to harm
the interests of the club members than it was to win for any of their own
personal reasons. Instead of a horrible aberration, the situation now seemed
much more like the natural order of things: might made right...
XVI.
Gabe, the smooth compact swimmer from GK, walked towards Sig Lam house. He
had been summoned by Dom to once again serve as substitute master to Dom's
slave twin Tom while Dom went away. Gabe fondly remembered the weekend he
had commanding Tom. The much bigger, well-muscled Tom had responded to his
every wish, sometimes even before he had expressed it. Gabe had never
ordered around or physically abused anyone before, but under Dom's guiding
influence he had grown to enjoy his absolute power over Tom, creatively
finding new ways to pick on him. And the meaner he got with Tom, the more
Tom became devoted to him and filled with lust for him.
Gabe was a friendly, easygoing guy, well-liked by his frat brothers. He had
participated in many house activities in the days before the Grand Master
arrived and permanently changed the nature of being a Gamma Kappa. Since the
change was hypnotically designed not to be noticed, it had only seemed
natural to Gabe when JJ, a well-toned but rather plain-faced Sig Lam, walked
into his room, took over the bed, and moved him to a bare old mattress on
the floor. JJ also ordered Gabe to take his own clothes out of the closet
and dresser and pile them on the floor, then go over to Sig Lam, get JJ's
stuff, bring it over and hang it neatly in the closet and fold it into the
dresser drawers. Gabe didn't mind any of this, or think it unusual: he
simply owed this to his new roommate because he was a Sig Lam.
JJ turned out to be rather slovenly, and given to farting quite loudly and
frequently. Once during a particularly extended session of flatulence, JJ
nastily cracked that Gabe should learn to like the smell of his farts. of
course, Gabe helplessly mistook this remark for an order. Over time, through
sheer force of will, he actually began to look forward to his roommate's
farts, savoring the odor and trying to guess from it what JJ had eaten at
his previous meal. After a good fart, JJ would look over at Gabe's sniffing,
appreciative face and snigger, thinking, what a dweeb.
As an active, dynamic personality, Gabe had tended to dominate friendships
as well as relationships with women. However, as time went by, and JJ's
low-key but steady assault on his original personality took its toll, Gabe's
forceful will faded, along with his masculinity, and he became quieter, more
deferential to others and less and less interested in sex.
When Dom first brought swim-teammate Gabe over to Sig Lam to serve as Tom's
temporary master, it marked a turnaround in Gabe's personality trends. Dom
had reawakened Gabe's active nature, and with his instructions had
hypnotically laced it with a small but growing element of sadism to
perfectly complement Tom's artificially-induced masochism. Gabe grew to
enjoy barking impossible orders at Tom, as much as Tom enjoyed obeying them,
and being severely punished when he failed. Tom secretly thrilled to the
occasional surprise boot to the groin, to having his hair grabbed and face
forced into Gabe's sweaty armpit or crotch for tongue-cleaning duty, to
being forced to stand at attention for hours while Gabe studied or watched
television, and being beaten when he faltered for a moment. He especially
liked Gabe's trick, learned from Dom, of riding Tom's naked muscular body on
all fours around the room with liberal use of a riding crop. It put his back
in constant contact with Gabe's small but (to Tom) perfectly-formed cock.
For his part, Gabe, although straight by his original nature, loved to watch
Tom's considerable muscles flex and ripple under his direct command, as if
they were extensions of his own body.
While he had been dubious when originally assigned his mastering task by
Dom, Gabe actually suffered quite a letdown when Dom returned from his
weekend out of town. When Gabe got back to GK, his roommate JJ noticed the
change immediately. While Gabe continued to follow JJ's orders, there was no
longer deference and admiration in his bearing. It was more like he was just
doing his job for someone who was only technically superior. But JJ, being
both straight and not particularly sadistic, let it slide. As long as Gabe
obeyed his instructions, he was still getting what he wanted out of being
boss of the room.
Now it was a month later, and Dom had phoned Gabe and told him to come to
Sig Lam for more "riding duty". As he neared the house, he absent-mindedly
rubbed his crotch as he remembered the thrill of his last "duty" weekend.
Would this become a regular occurrence? He could only hope so.
As he walked in the twins' room, he noticed Tom hooded and chained, as
usual, to Dom's bed, but also hogtied on the floor. When Tom saw Gabe, he
got noticeably excited. His two most revered people in the world were in the
room with him, and even in his awkward position it was impossible to contain
his happiness.
"Look at that piece of shit. He actually loves all this. Pain is now
pleasure to him," said Dom, with a powerful pointed-boot-tip kick to Tom's
side. "I really got off on training him, wearing him down, destroying and
rebuilding his personality, but it's done now. He's completely broken.
Where's the fun in that?"
Gabe was at a loss for words. He looked down at Tom. After months of serving
Dom and working out as his two exclusive activities, Tom was in hugely
better shape than his twin. As Tom gazed up at Gabe with love in his eyes,
visible even through the hood eyeholes, Gabe couldn't understand what Dom's
problem was. What could be better than to have a handsome, worked-out guy
that lived only to serve your every wish?
"Next week is spring break. I'm tired of being stuck with this piece of
shit. For me it's become like a job, it's like I can never leave. I want to
head out and train someone new, break his spirit and destroy his will. I'm
going to use the rest of this week and spring break week to try it. There's
a guy back home I went to high school with who used to look at Tom and me
when he thought we weren't looking. Of course, at the time I didn't know the
full extent of my powers, so I didn't even give him a second thought. This
guy is nearly a foot taller than me, and stronger, and I've imagined working
on him until he submits. I think I know enough about his weaknesses to get
him completely under my thumb.
"I'm going to leave you here the whole time with Tom. If my deal doesn't
work out, I'll be back after spring break. If it does, well, you might not
see me for awhile. That tall friend back home is from a really rich family,
and he just got his trust fund when he turned 21. Once he's my property,
I'll make him sign everything he has over to me, and he'll be glad to do it
just so I'll keep on kicking him in the balls the way he needs it." Dom
paused, excitedly imagining his 6'7" friend standing at attention as best he
could, a sheen of fear-produced sweat covering his torso, 12-inch vibrating
dildo up his ass and ball spreader in front, cock ring keeping him painfully
erect, waiting for further abuse. Standing naked and helpless in the dark
basement of what was formerly his own expensive home, now Dom's, where he
was the full-time slave while Dom and his fellow master guests partied and
lived upstairs.
"If that happens, this room and my brother are both yours. I won't need this
damn school anymore, I'll be set. You might have to dress him up to take a
picture of the two of you and e-mail it to our folks so they won't think
something's wrong. I'll cover you with them when I get back home, let them
know you're Tom's new best friend. That way you can make it look like he's
keeping in touch even though he can hardly talk anymore." Tom gazed
uncomprehendingly but lovingly up at his twin. The gods in his life were
communing, there was no need for his worthless self to listen to their
important masterful talk. He probably wouldn't understand it anyway.
Gabe couldn't believe his luck. His life had changed in the space of a few
minutes. He would be a man again, a dominating, loved and respected,
masculine man. He would be away from the demanding JJ for awhile, maybe even
forever, which would be a good thing since he no longer thought of JJ with
the complete respect he used to have for him. He couldn't even remember why
he had held that respect. Gabe held one booted foot up near tied-up Tom's
mouth, and Tom began eagerly licking it.
"OK, I'm taking off now." Dom grabbed his bag. "I'm sure you two will be
happy together. See ya." As Dom opened the door and stepped into the hall,
he nearly tripped over the Grand Master, who had been listening at the door.
A few control words and Dom's conscious mind went blank. Within thirty
seconds, all three frat boys were in the same state.
When they woke up, ALL their worlds had changed. As he had hoped, Gabe was
now permanently installed in what had been the twins' room. He was now no
longer a Gamma Kappa, but a Sig Lam. In fact, he had ALWAYS been a Sig Lam,
as far as he or anyone else could remember. That put him on an equal status
with the others living in the Sig Lam house, and made him the superior of
any GK. After a hypnozonked JJ brought Gabe's stuff over from the GK house
without really knowing why, Gabe settled into his new room and began his
life with Tom. He removed Tom's chain, but ordered him to behave as if it
was still in place. When Tom moved beyond the zone, Gabe would kick and
punch him while he stood with his arms helplessly by his side. On the odd
occasion, Tom would intentionally step past the line just to receive the
punishment he so craved. After several months, Tom's memory of Dom faded,
and all he could think about was Gabe. For him, all was right with the
world.
Meanwhile, over at the GK house, a new living arrangement suddenly
materialized in a room on the second floor. Two of the mildest-mannered GK
roommates found themselves with a new guest in their room. Cute, blond,
about 5'8", he was naked except for a leather hood, chained to one of their
two bed frames, and he was clearly a mute, unable to talk, write, or even
form words with his mouth, although great fear and anger could be seen to
alternate in his eyes. For reasons they couldn't understand, the GK
roommates found increasingly great excitement in taking out their day-to-day
frustrations on the senses and private parts of their new friend. While they
were clearly new at it, the sophistication of their methods of torment grew
each day, and more and more often these otherwise straight GKs would sport
hard-ons during their activities. Soon, they were spending less and less
time away from their room in the evening, and finding more ways to make the
torture more sadistically interesting. As their lives changed, the
companionship of Women became a distant memory, seemingly irrelevant to
their pleasure.
Dom could not believe the situation. Here he was, imprisoned in a room with
two sissy GKs, who were torturing him in ways he had never even thought of
in his days with Tom. And for some reason he was totally unable to talk, and
pathologically afraid to make any noise that might draw attention to
himself. He knew that if he could speak, he could control the roommates,
since he was a Sig Lam and they were GKs. If he could just talk to them, he
could get them to free him. He would then have them go downtown to a leather
store and buy the largest, most painful-looking whips they could find, come
back to the room, strip naked, and use them on each other. One would be
commanded to bend over and expose his ass and lower back, then CRACK! the
other would be compelled to deliver a full-force blow. Then the first would
bend over, and CRACK! Dom would greatly enjoy watching each one in turn
sorrowfully inflict as much pain as he could on his roommate, while Dom sat
on the couch jerking off and giving them their orders. But it was not to be.
Dom's speech center was simply not functioning.
You see, the Grand Master kept watch over his experiments, particularly his
early, favored ones. And one element of the GM's philosophy was, you're
responsible for taking care of your human property. You can belittle your
brother, then beat him, torture him, and ultimately enslave him, but once
you've done that, you can't simply walk away. Therefore, the GM terminated
his twins experiment and began a new one: can two natural bottoms
successfully enslave a top who has lost his power to command? Will the
former top grow to accept his situation after awhile, say a few months, or
will he fight it every inch of the way? Only time would tell.